Checking My Pulse
by 5222008
Summary: Song-fic for "Checking My Pulse" by Alix Olson    This fits in the "Rules"/Signs 'verse. The segments are not chronological, although I think they're fairly easy to follow. Another short piece about the progression of Rachel and Quinn's relationship.


_your face crept  
into that space  
between my reflex and my resolve _

Quinn never meant to fall for Rachel. She never meant to think of the petite brunette as anything other than an enemy. By the beginning of junior year, however, Rachel was an acquaintance, and then, somehow, a friend. Really, though, Quinn _never_ meant to fall for her. Quinn still wasn't sure how Rachel's face become the face she saw when she closed her eyes. Rachel's face swam through her dreams and the nightmares — which had once come every night, depriving her of sleep for four months after Beth had been born — now only came when Rachel's face was absent. Quinn had resolved that she would graduate from McKinley without another scandal. She had certainly had her share. And yet, somehow, Quinn wasn't sure how, she started to think that maybe a scandal wouldn't be so bad if it was about her _and_ Rachel.

_kinda like the crevice you don't notice  
til it takes down the damn wall._

It's Rachel's fault, ultimately, that Quinn cracks. Rachel teasing her about kissing girls, Rachel and the damn bet. Quinn would have been perfectly content to just stay friends— she thinks that Rachel could have been her best friend for the rest of her life; she thinks that Rachel could have been "Aunt Rachel" to her kids, and she could have been "Aunt Quinn," and thirty years from now Quinn could look back and laugh about the five minutes when she'd had a crush on Rachel. But instead, she kisses Rachel up against the storage container in front of the Smith house and _fuck_ if it's not the best kiss she's ever had. She's heard all the clichés about kissing girls: it's so soft, it's a better fit than with guys, it's much gentler. It's mostly bullshit. Kissing Rachel isn't soft or gentle — it's fiery and passionate and intense and unlike anything she's ever experienced before. One thing wasn't bullshit; it definitely was a better fit. Finn was too tall, and her neck always hurt from kissing him. Puck was too muscular, and she always felt like he was moments away from accidently crushing her if he got carried away. Sam's lips were just too big, and she always got beard burn on her chin and cheeks. Rachel, however, just _fit_. It was perfect. It was magical. It was all Quinn could think about afterwards, even if she wouldn't quite admit it to herself. That's why, she thinks, she made that stupid comment in bed the next week—"the let's make out game"? What in the world had she been thinking? But she could admit, now, how thrilled she had been that Rachel had been drunk enough to play.

_and now we are sitting in the window  
your forehead is red-hot and touching my knee  
and I am checking my pulse,  
making sure it hasn't quit on me._

When Quinn realizes that Rachel is her best friend, it's unsettling. They're sitting in a Starbucks, on a couch near the window, looking out at the vibrant reds and oranges of early fall in Lima. Quinn is leaning back against the arm of the couch, feet up on the cushion. Rachel, frustrated with the sheet music she is transposing, leans forward, resting her forehead against Quinn's raised knees. Quinn freezes. Even when she and Santana were speaking — which they might be, today, Quinn can't remember whether today is even-numbered or odd — they'd never had a particularly _physical_ friendship. The fact that Rachel is comfortable enough with her to engage in such casual intimacy — even after their history — takes Quinn's breath away. She focuses on the sensation of Rachel's forehead, pressing her jeans into her kneecap, until the other girl sits back up. She is surprised by the sudden sense that she has lost something important. She thinks she could be okay with this kind of physicality, and tentatively reaches out an arm to lightly rub Rachel's arm. Rachel grins at the contact, and Quinn is no longer tentative.

_and I'm sorry if you're thinking that I knew what I was doing  
I guess what I do best is look like I am in control_

In the animal kingdom, it is natural for strong animals to bully weaker animals into submission. If there is anything Quinn has learned from _Mean Girls_, it's that the animal kingdom and high school are basically the same thing. That's why she spends the better part of two years terrorizing the smaller animals around her. Quinn wants to prove her dominance, and Rachel is nothing if not a smaller, weaker animal. Quinn thought she had all the answers, thought she had discovered the secret of high school survival, and knew that those on the outside looking in agreed with her. That was, of course, before she got pregnant with that baboon's spawn, and discovered what it was like to be the weakest animal on the food chain. Before Quinn and Rachel really become friends, Quinn insisted on apologizing. Rachel tried to tell her that everything was forgiven, that Quinn's behavior after giving birth had proven that she had changed, but Quinn said she had to do it. After they started dating, Quinn apologized again, weeping against Rachel's chest and repeating her murmured "I'm sorry"s under her breath under she cried herself to sleep. Quinn found that, with Rachel, she wasn't afraid to be out of control. More importantly, she wasn't afraid to let Rachel see that she was out of control.

_but tonight, tonight, I am a soft and untamed thing  
and I will wrap my breath around you til your exhale comes clean.  
I am checking my pulse  
I am checking my pulse_

Rachel is the only one who gets to see the real Quinn. Or, at the very least, Rachel is the only one who gets to see the person Quinn so desperately _wants_ to be. This Quinn, Rachel's Quinn, is all soft curves, soft words, gentle touches and gentler kisses. There is none of the hardness that she exhibits at school; there are none of the sharp edges that protect her from her parents, friends, and classmates. Quinn still can't let herself believe, fully, how deeply Rachel has burrowed into her heart. Late at night, as the two girls rest, wrapped around each other, Quinn pinches herself, just to make sure the whole thing is real. When she feels Rachel stir, however, and adjusts her head to fit more securely against the shorter girl's neck, she knows that she has found her truth.

_you are the buried penny at the bottom of the pool  
so I guess that makes me the fool diving deep for you_

Quinn knows that she doesn't deserve Rachel. Quinn has sinned, and sinners don't get rewarded with girlfriends as wonderful as Rachel. Sometimes, Quinn thinks that Rachel knows it too. Sometimes Rachel will look at her with her head tilted to one side, a half-smile playing on her lips. When she catches Quinn looking at her, she bites her lip and looks away. It doesn't happen often, but when it does Quinn always goes out of her way to do something nice for her girlfriend: a soy latte the next morning, or not even pretending to argue when Rachel suggests that they watch a musical after school. Quinn is sitting in glee club one day, contemplating how undeserving she really is, when she looks up and catches Rachel's eye. Rachel dazzles her with a bright grin and Quinn blushes. Even though she doesn't deserve Rachel, she resolves to become deserving. She doesn't know whether she will ever be good enough for the brunette — she may be undertaking a fool's errand — but she will try anyway.

_I'll stick you in my pocket  
all shiny, all precious, and all not mine  
a hidden, forbidden treasure  
_

Quinn isn't ashamed of Rachel, no matter what Santana implies during their weekly girls' nights. Rachel is beautiful, smart, driven, hilarious (if she's comfortable) — everything Quinn could want in a girlfriend. She is completely comfortable with the fact that Rachel's dads, Quinn's mom and sister, and their close friends, know about the relationship. Quinn doesn't want them to come out at school, that much is true, but it's not because she's ashamed. In fact, it's the exact opposite. She's _so_ proud of Rachel, so _fucking_ proud, that she's terrified of losing her. Quinn is terrified that someone — someone better, someone more deserving — will recognize how absolutely wonderful Rachel truly is. It's not that Quinn believes that Rachel would leave her, necessarily, but the fear is there nonetheless. Quinn knows that eventually, they will come out at school. She sees how much Rachel wants to share their relationship with the world and, to be honest, Quinn does too. Just not yet, she thinks, pulling Rachel closer and lightly pressing a kiss to her forehead.

_baby, you're the worst kind.  
cause underneath the surface, all things loom larger  
so I'm searching for your edges  
to fish you up, ship you up out of the water  
and you are that sweet wish that she's thrown  
I would have caught you in the air, girl, had I known._

Quinn wishes she could undo the mistakes she made "before" — before admitting, and then accepting, that she was gay; before becoming friends, and then becoming lovers, with Rachel. She prefers not to think about "before." The memories of Beth and betrayal and long nights on a cot in a cold basement are overwhelming and when she does think about it she feels like she's drowning. When that happens, Rachel is like a life preserver, pulling her out of the depths of the Fabray house (not a home, never a home) and McKinley High School. One afternoon, as Quinn mourns the daughter she will never know and the boys whose hearts she has broken, Rachel holds her and whispers "I'm sorry." The words crash into Quinn like a wave and suddenly she is crying. Rachel pulls her tighter and, still whispering, apologizes for the way she behaved during Quinn's pregnancy. She apologizes for telling Finn, for not offering Quinn a home, for not being the friend she knows she should have been. Quinn doesn't hear all of Rachel's murmured apologies, since she is also apologizing. Between sobs she apologizes to Beth for leaving, to Puck for taking his daughter, and to Rachel for being broken. Rachel places her hand on Quinn's chest, just above her heart, and tells Quinn how strong she is, how beautiful. Rachel wishes that she'd known all this before, that it hadn't taken her so long to hold Quinn tight against her and apologize.

_and now the space between these bodies  
surpasses the sum of its parts  
so I am crawling in-between these moments  
balancing words hoping I don't get stuck.  
_

The first time Quinn calls Rachel "Rachel," without thinking about it first, she is dumbstruck. She immediately backtracks, calling her "Berry" for the rest of the conversation, but cannot stop picturing the smile that flashed on Rachel's face. She is careful for weeks, refusing to call Rachel by her first name more than once in any given conversation. After three weeks of this tightrope act, she breaks, cornering Rachel in the bathroom one afternoon and asking if the offer of friendship, extended months earlier, still stands. Rachel looks bewildered, but eventually nods, and invites Quinn to her house that afternoon to do homework. Quinn stalks from the bathroom without answering, but Rachel sees her smile as she pushes open the door and knows to expect her after glee club.

_and I was just thinking "distraction"  
now I'm thinking distraction's a relative thing  
cause I was casually splashing  
and now I'm a casualty slowly sinking._

At first, they both swear it's casual. Quinn even comes up with an elaborate baseball metaphor in an attempt to convince Rachel that they should continue sleeping together without dating. Quinn suggests that their relationship is like interleague play — it doesn't count towards team rankings, it's just for practice. Even though Rachel is (or thinks she is) straight, which Quinn calls "playing for the National League," she can give up the designated hitter (which, according to Quinn's metaphor, has something to do with men and their anatomical differences) for these limited games. Rachel stares at her skeptically as she gives this convoluted justification, but eventually nods and pulls the harried blonde in for a kiss. "Interleague play," she says. "Got it." Quinn doesn't know much about baseball, but Rachel doesn't either, so she doesn't question her about the details. When Quinn realizes that her emotions have definitely become involved, and that the idea of "casual" has fallen by the wayside, the baseball metaphor still seems appropriate. "Foul ball," she says, falling backwards onto her bed.

_cause in hot water, my brain just kinda puckers up  
and I'm drowning jaws wide open now cause my mouth  
it just won't seem to shut.  
_

Once Quinn finally says "I love you," which happens four months after she and Rachel start sleeping together, she finds that she can't quite seem to _stop_ saying it. Rachel is more judicious, but Quinn can't help herself. She finds herself overcome at the most inconvenient times, watching Rachel push her hair behind her ear while doing homework, or stand on tiptoe to remove a book from a high shelf. Quinn can't resist telling Rachel that she loves her during those small, quiet moments. She feels physically compelled, drawn towards the other girl. It is similar to the way she feels when she thinks about "before," but different too. She is drowning, but drowning up instead of down. She is gaining consciousness instead of losing it, becoming more aware with each time she utters the three small words.

_and you might just be a shiny thing  
but you are the shiny thing I am pursuing  
and when I said "you talk too much"  
it was cause there was stuff I'd rather you'd have been doing._

Quinn and Rachel met the first day of preschool at Dayspring Unitarian Church. Rachel introduced herself with a lengthy speech involving her fathers, her aspirations to appear on Broadway, and her admiration for "Ms. Streisand and Ms. Peters." "My name is Quinn," Quinn said in response, "and you talk too much." Quinn's initial assessment was reaffirmed again and again over the years. Although Quinn never stopped telling Rachel that she talked too much, at some point the meaning changed. Rachel used to be offended, sure that Quinn was insulting her. Now that they've been dating for six months, however, Rachel knows that when Quinn says "shut up," she really means "shut up and kiss me." Quinn knows that it's irrational for her to love Rachel, fears that eventually Rachel will leave her in favor of neon lights, but she can't resist the magnetic pull of the brunette. She covers her fear with occasional jokes, with unnecessary sarcasm. Rachel sees through it, though, and when Quinn says "Rachel, honey, you talk _way_ too much," Rachel just leans in and kisses her, firmly.

_and then you take my breath  
I say "hey, I need that to get back to the top"  
"but we're beautiful down here," you say  
"you know, girl the world won't stop"  
_

Even now, three days before Rachel and Quinn leave Lima for New York (Columbia for Quinn, Tisch for Rachel), Quinn tries to pretend that Rachel isn't her entire world. Her generally blasé attitude is belied, however, by her body's response. She is still breathless at the sight of Rachel in her tank top and shorts, though they've been dating for almost two years. Rachel smiles bashfully and blushes, aware of Quinn's gaze. She reaches out and places her hand on Quinn's cheek. "You know I love you, right?" she asks, holding eye contact with the blonde. Quinn swallows involuntarily and nods, not trusting her voice. "And you know I'm still going to love you when I'm famous and fabulous?" Quinn looks away, swallowing again, her face revealing her insecurity over this very issue. "We are beautiful, baby," Rachel says, smiling. "We are beautiful and we are forever." Quinn blushes and smiles in return. She wishes it were easier to believe Rachel when she promises forever. She wishes the world would stop right that second — Rachel's hand on her cheek, sitting on the swing in her backyard — but at the same time she wishes the world would move faster — that she could fast forward to when Rachel is famous and she is successful and they are happy and together. Quinn is content in that moment, sitting with Rachel in the hot Ohio sun three days before moving to New York and the rest of their life together.

_and we are sitting in the window  
your forehead is red-hot and touching my knee  
and I am checking my pulse  
making sure it hasn't quit on me._

By Quinn's count, this is the eleventh place they have lived in a little over fifteen years. She does not count the hotel they lived in while the penthouse was being renovated, although Rachel says that, since they had sex in the kitchenette, it should count. They are finally unpacked, Quinn's home office set up in the second bedroom, the third set up as a guestroom until they might someday need it as a nursery, and they are sitting on a bench in the dormer window. This window is what made Quinn fall in love with the apartment, made her agree to moving there even though they couldn't quite afford it yet. She remembers that fall afternoon in a Starbucks in Lima, the first thrill of intimacy coursing through her as Rachel leaned against her knee. Now, it is Quinn's forehead against Rachel's knee, as Rachel rubs soothing circles on Quinn's neck. Quinn thinks about how far she's come — from pregnant teen to Assistant District Attorney—and how far Rachel has come — from bullied teen to Broadway leading lady — and, most importantly, how far the two of them have come together. She fingers the plain gold band on her left ring finger and subtly checks her pulse, once again reassuring herself that it isn't a dream.

_I am just checking my pulse  
making sure it hasn't quit on me  
I am just checking my pulse  
making sure she hasn't quit on me yet._


End file.
